


Heads and Tails

by woodwind



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodwind/pseuds/woodwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was expecting a box of those frilly little cakes. This...is not a box of frilly little cakes. Written for the DA kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heads and Tails

He was expecting a box of those frilly little cakes.

This...is not a box of frilly little cakes.

He stares down at the package in his hands, lined with purple velvet, the box itself inlaid with tiny flecks of gold. In its center rests one of the largest anal toys he has ever seen, a thing of polished lazurite. He takes it out of the box, and, oh - a tail unfolds from the end, pitch black and glossy, made of genuine fur. He runs his thumb over it, a flush working its way up his neck.

"Do you like it?"

Iron Bull is sitting in a chair with clawed feet, a tableful of sweetmeats and cheeses at his side, his right elbow resting on its edge. His one good eye twinkles in the candlelight, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

"It is...unexpected, but not unpleasant."

Bull laughs, booming, slapping his knee, leaning back in the chair until it creaks. "I told you I was getting you a gift! What, did you expect those silly little cakes? You should know me better by now, Solas. I'm hurt."

Solas places it back in the box, being careful not to damage the tail. “And you expect me to wear it? Now?”

He sees Bull lick his lips, and the flush spreads up and out, down his chest and along his cheeks. “If you like.”

Solas looks down at the toy again, brows pinched. “Is there a reason you chose a furry tail, specifically?”

Bull shrugs. “Nah. Just thought you’d look cute with it.”

Solas grins, “I see,” and turns toward the massive bed, custom-made just for Bull, a human-sized bed too small for his bulk. It’s covered in simple linens and a pillow almost gone flat, but it’s comfortable, the mattress sagging as he sits on it.

It still smells like the incense and oils Bull had used on him the night before, evoking images of slick, sliding skin and sparkling goblets of mead, which were fed to him in small samples, between Bull massaging him all over with those large, calloused hands. The night had ended with him on his back, wrists tied around the bedpost as Bull drove his cock into him again and again -

Solas inhales, softly, through parted lips. Bull has noticed, but says nothing, though his smirk grows in size.

“Distracted, Fadewalker?”

Solas only hums in agreement, before moving to pull his tunic over his head, but Bull rises swiftly from his seat to take his hands. “No,” he says, firmly, before grabbing a handful of said tunic and sliding it over his head himself.

“Just to be certain,” Bull starts on the foot wraps now. “Will we be needing a watchword for this?”

Those large fingers begin to work the soreness from his soles, up along the arch of his foot and across the ankle. Solas sighs contentedly. “No, I do not believe so. Would you like to insert it, or shall I?”

Suddenly Bull’s face grows dark, in a way that speaks more of arousal than battlelust, his pupil dilated, mouth slightly ajar, as if he’s tasting the air with his tongue.

“You. But let me prep you first.”

Solas nods, silent, letting Bull unlace his trousers, easing them down his slim hips and off his legs. Now naked, he lays back when Bull presses one hand against the center of his chest, the bed coverings cool along his bare back.

He moans softly when those hands cup his hipbones, running all up and down his torso, scratching softly as he goes. “Shit,” Bull mutters, rumbling, “Still can’t believe I talked you into this. All of this.”

Solas closes his eyes, stretching both arms above his head, arching his back in the way he knows Bull likes, smiling softly when his hands move down his thighs. “Give yourself some credit. You were Ben-Hassrath, after all. You knew the right words to pick,” his breath hitches when Bull scratches his nipples, “And I am always open to new ideas.”

The mattress bows as Bull kneels on it, hooking his arm across Solas’ shoulders to urge him further up it, so that his head rests against the pillows, Bull laid out beside him. On the nightstand sits a collection of oils, in bottles of varying size and shape, and Bull plucks one the color of moss from the others, uncorking it and pouring it into his palms.

“You want the full massage tonight?”

Solas shakes his head, resisting the urge to wriggle his hips. His cock is already half-hard, resting heavily against his stomach.

“Not tonight,” he hopes Bull doesn’t notice the tremor in his voice, “Just your fingers and the tail.”

The self-satisfied smirk on Bull’s mouth says he did, in fact, notice the tremor. He nods, moving to retrieve the box, to lay it among the collection of oils.

One of Bull’s hands, wet with the oil, cups warmly over his thigh, thumb resting in the little pit on the inside of it, his gray skin dark against the ivory of Solas’ own. He lets his index finger dip behind his testicles, lighting the first spark of heat behind Solas’ closed eyelids. Solas draws in a breath, tenses, and relaxes when that finger skims the length of that sensitive stripe of skin, not forgetting to cup his balls every other stroke.

Bull leans down on his other elbow, murmuring words of praise as Solas parts his legs, grunting quietly when that single finger brushes his asshole, swirling the oil around it, but not pressing, not yet. 

Bull sweeps his gaze up and down Solas’ body, tongue snaking out to moisten his lips. It lingers on the smooth curve of his collarbones, the subtle jut of his hipbones, the muscles tight like a whip beneath pale skin.

“It’s a crying shame you hide under those scruffy clothes. You’ve got a wonderful body for a man who spends most of his time fuckin’ napping.”

Solas laughs, genuine, warm like the hands on his skin. “I don’t spend all of my time asleep. Just most of - oh!”

His eyes flutter shut, but he can practically see the smug satisfaction on Bull’s face even so, as that finger presses gently at him, and Solas spreads his legs wider to accommodate, hips rolling upward. He grunts, not in pain, when the first knuckle slips past, the oil warmed with Bull’s own body heat, then retreats, only to move forward again to push further in.

“Oh, yes,” Solas sighs, breathy, the muscles in his neck cording. “Deeper, just a little, ah...!” His thighs jerk when Bull’s finger grazes his prostate, a gentle tease. Solas’ cock is fully-erect, now, but Bull ignores it, pushing down on his asshole a few times, adding more oil when needed, before slipping a second finger in, crooking them gently to rub his prostate again.

Bull makes a sound closer to a rumble than a sigh, the bed squeaking beneath his weight, as he guides one of Solas’ legs further open, draping it across his hip, his oil-slick fingers thrusting in at a more even pace. Solas arches his back, fingers clawing at the roughspun coverings.

There’s a slick little pop when Bull withdraws his fingers, fluttering them as he goes, offering one last skim over his asshole before that hand returns to Solas’ stomach, rubbing in soothing circles.

“Think you can get it in now?”

Solas pants, eyelids fluttering, the short, thick fringe of his eyelashes brushing his cheeks. “I believe so,” he breathes, sitting up. Bull hands him the box and a vial of oil, rising from the bed to sit in the claw-footed chair again, an intense light in his one good eye.

Solas swallows, feeling the weight of the toy in his palm, the utter smoothness, eyes moving back and forth between it and the tail which hangs from the end. It’s oddly comforting, to be reminded of a wolf, stirring a strange warmth in his belly which edges toward pride. Bull would have no idea, of course, but it’s comforting nonetheless, and it brings a small smile to his lips.

“Very well,” Solas says, more to himself, as he turns to move the pillow further down, so he can prop his hips on it, knees bent, back slightly bowed. He hears Bull’s sharp intake of breath; the chair is positioned at the foot of the bed, to offer a full view of the goings-on, and the thought of someone watching as he uses a toy evokes a deep shudder of delight down Solas’ spine.

With one hand, he pours a copious amount of oil over the plug, careful not to drip any onto the tail, slicking it thoroughly from tip to base. His fingers still slick with oil, he reaches around to sink first one, then two fingers into himself, groaning in pleasure, pumping them a few times to further relax, before withdrawing them to clutch at the sheets instead.

With the plug, he reaches under rather than around, nudging the smooth tip against himself, before slowly, carefully, pressing it forward, little by little, retreating once or twice. Solas muffles a moan into the bedding when he pushes it over the swell, the girth stretching him just the right amount.

He wiggles it a few times, toes curling, and when he’s certain it fully seated, Solas lets it go, the shining black tail falling between his legs. He lifts his head, biting his lower lip, cheeks flushed, the tips of his ears the same rosy pink.

“Well? Does it look as good as you imagined it, Bull?” He’s slightly breathless, but cannot bring himself to care. The tail’s fur is soft against his calves, tickling the back of his thighs as he closes them. His heart is a thunderstorm in his ears; yes, this is familiar, almost, warm, like he’s drank champagne, bubbly and just a little dark.

“Better,” Bull huffs, though he doesn’t move from his spot, “It’s cute and hot as fuck. Wiggle your ass again.”

Were it anyone else, and if he were in a fouler mood, Solas would have scoffed at the command, but he does so, allowing himself his own smug little smile as Bull grips the armrest of his chair so hard it creaks. His breathing, Solas notices, has gone shallow.

“Think you can stand?”

Solas nods, doing so, hissing when the plug nudges his prostate, the change in movement pushing the toy further in. His face, neck and chest are flushed, sweat beginning to pearl there, and his cock bobs between his legs, darker than the blush on his face. Bull doesn’t even try to hide his own erection, though it’s trapped in his awful striped pants.

The chair groans as Bull rises from it, to draw closer to Solas, his hands instantly settling on his hips, fingertips against the swell of his ass. The contact makes them both moan, and Solas leans his forehead forward to rest it on Bull’s massive chest.

“You can take if out now if you want.”

Solas swallows. “Not quite yet. I...like it.”

Bull’s following chuckle is all warmth and gravel. “Happy to hear it. Wasn’t sure if you would.”

Bull reaches down to grasp the tail between his thumb and forefinger, testing the texture, its smooth slide, though it’s just a little coarse. His other hand settles against the small of Solas’ back.

A wicked grin splits across his face, mischievous, suggestive.

“Think anyone will notice if you tuck this in your trousers? Your tunic does have that silly flap...”

Solas tries to hide a moan, doesn’t succeed. “I have no idea. Perhaps we can test that out tomorrow. But only if I get to buy something for you, next time.”

Bull smiles. “Deal.”


End file.
